


Kinktober 2017 Collection

by MDidact (SaigonTimeMD)



Category: DCU (Comics), Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator, Overwatch (Video Game), Super Mario & Related Fandoms, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bad Dirty Talk, Bathroom Sex, Bodyswap, Bondage, Breathplay, Bukkake, Chastity Device, Choking, Creampie, Crossdressing, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Public Sex, Remote Control, Sleepy Sex, Spanking, Trans Sombra (Overwatch)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaigonTimeMD/pseuds/MDidact
Summary: Based off of thisthis post, I decided to challenge myself by writing 31 pieces of (relatively) short smut in 31 days, each one based off of a particular kink. This work is going to span all sorts of fandoms and subjects, so it should at least be an interesting exercise if anything else. Thanks for reading!





	1. Day 1 - Sleepy Sex and Spanking (DDADDS | Damien / Dadsona)

**Author's Note:**

> October is upon us, and that means two things: (A), I’m going apeshit over Hallowe, and (B) I’m going to try and write a short bit of smut every day based off of this post. Getting started with some Dream Daddy stuff; I just got around to finishing Damien’s route (I love that man so much) today and I was inspired to write a cute little bit of nsfw nonsense.
> 
> Includes morning sex, spanking, male-on-transgender-male pairing, and purposefully ambiguous penetration! Enjoy. Also, I realize this is actually going up on October 2nd, but I was Real Fuckin Busy today, and the next day doesn’t start until I wake up again, so there.

               “Darling, you have to get up _some_ time.”

               Damien pulls the sheet from over my head, but the joke’s on him: my long brown hair, now matted to my face because I’m a responsible adult that decided to sleep with the heat on, forms a second protective layer that no offense can penetrate. Checkmate, you lovely man.

               Oh, he just brushed it out of the way. Gotta think of something quick.

               “I just had an idea,” I mumble, holding one barely-extended finger up like a philosopher of old, “what if, instead, I didn’t?” This is a breakthrough that should earn me at least five more minutes.

               “Well, that is _one_ possibility,” he concedes. He’s still in _his_ pajamas, why’s he giving _me_ a hard time just because he’s also been up for like an hour – or two – already? “Here’s another: I lie here on top of you like an anxious puppy until you get up.”

               “Wow, cuddling. Historically speaking, not the best way to get me off my butt.”

               I’m sassing, but honestly I could fall asleep again like this, with his head on my chest and – oh no, the dreaded eye contact! Why is he so beautiful? What is he—oh, he’s going to kiss me. I should oversleep more often. Wait, that’s a lot of tongue. I mean, not that I’m complaining, but—

               “Hm. Well, at least _part_ of you is up.”

               “Uh, well, I mean, um, if you weren’t such a great kisser, uh, I wouldn’t—”

               “I’ve changed my mind. I think I _will_ stay in bed this morning!”

               How does he move so fast? I had a death grip on these sheets but now _woosh_ here he is! Maybe he _is_ a vampire.

               “One thing the modern age has up on the Victorian era…” Ooh, he’s murmuring history into the nape of my neck. _God_ I love this man. “…underwear is _so_ much easier to get off nowadays.”

               Guess it’s a good thing I never got the button on my fly sewn back on. I hope Lucien’s already out of the house.

               “Is this…ah…is this how you prefer to be woken up, _good sir_? Mmmuch better than some tawdry alarm clock…yes…”

               “Can’t say I’d ever…ngh…turn it down,” I admit, though it’s hard to sound sexy with hair stuck in the side of my mouth. I can’t keep my hands off him now, trailing bright pink across his pale skin. My fingers dig into that _it’s so cute how did I get so lucky_ rear of his, and I can tell those aerobic classes Craig and I talked him into are paying off. I think of something dirty – well, dirt _ier_ – and slap my palm across his backside. His hips buck, he clenches around me, and he lets out a yelp I’m pretty sure the entire cul-de-sac heard.

               “The nerve!” he stutters, and I can’t tell if he’s actually angry or not. “How _dare_ you sla-HAH! Mnnnn…” I figured it would be a shame to leave the other cheek neglected, and judging from that lip bite, I made the right call. Can’t take much more of this, though – time for the big finish! Uh, literally!

               I wrap my arms around him and pull him up, giving his hips a break while mine take over, letting him have it just like I did in the back of the movie theater that one time. Well, couple of times. While Robert played lookout and definitely under no circumstances sneak a peek when he thought I wasn’t looking. He’s worked his fingers under my shoulders and it’s going to look like I gave a piggyback ride to a family of angry badgers, but it’s worth it. Oh man is it _worth_ it!

               “Darling, I’m…I’m coming!” he stammers about half a second before his whole body tightens around mine – almost cutting off circulation, I’d like to add – and I let myself go until that white hot high fades away and I can actually see again. He finally pushes off of me – well, falls to the side and immediately cuddles up to me, is more accurate.

               “You think me some common dandy just because you talked me out of my inexpressibles and ravished me until I can’t feel my knees?” he asks with a mile-wide grin.

               “Who talked who out of _what_ again?”

               “Hmph. We’ll discuss this later,” he insists, scooting in closer and nestling his head under my chin. “After my nap.”

               I should REALLY sleep in more often.


	2. Day 2 - Dirty Talk (DC Universe | Harley Quinn / Poison Ivy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have a ton of writing experience with any of today’s potential themes; I’m personally pretty repulsed by watersports, forniphilia seems like it wouldn’t lend itself well to a short piece of smut, and most dirty dialogue I’ve read is usually so overblown that I can’t imagine anyone saying it even in the throes of passion.
> 
> With that being said, I decided to go with dirty talk and one of my favorite comic character pairings, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. This is a pretty tame piece compared to my other stuff, but I wanted to write something that felt ‘real’ - at least within the world it inhabits. Enjoy!

              “Do you have any idea how _good_ your ass looks, even in that old labcoat?”

               Harley wasn’t sure if it was the amount of concentration she was putting into planning out the next night’s heist, or if Ivy had intentionally tamped down on her pheromones, but the flirtatious whisper in her ear caught her completely by surprise, sending a jolt through her body that was as shocking as it was scintillating.

               “Mmm, I could stare at it for hours,” the voice continued, “although, of course, there’s other things I’d much rather be doing with it.”

               “Red,” Harley started, clinging to what little impulse control she had, “I gotta get this done! Those goons we hired won’t know their left foot from their right ‘less we tell’em!”

               “Of course. Work _comes_ first,” Ivy purred, and Harley could feel her lover’s breath on the back of her neck like a whiff of roses in the spring. The edges of the bank blueprint crumpled slightly as Harley’s hands tightened. “Although I suppose you’re used to coming first, aren’t you?”

               Harley started to turn, but Ivy’s hands were on her own in an instant, keeping her in place facing the desk; the twin pressures of Poison Ivy’s breasts pushed against Harleen’s shoulders, and, beneath the white clown paint, her face turned beet red.

               “Don’t let me distract you, lover.”

                _Way too late for that_ , Harley thought.

               “I was just watching you bending over that desk, swaying your hips from side to side,” Ivy continued, hissing out the _s_ on ‘hips,’ “and all I could think of was coming over, kneeling down behind you, and tonguing you until I couldn’t get your taste out of my mouth.”

               “Pamela…”

               “Can’t you just _imagine_ it? My mouth kissing, _nibbling_ every inch of you until you can barely breathe? I can. There you are now, lying on the floor, shivering naked, drenched in sweat, and there’s me, licking that _sticky sweet_ from my fingers.”

               “ _Red_!” Harley whirled around out of Ivy’s grasp, clown-white face flushed crimson, a slightly darkened stain at the groin of her red-and-black pajama shorts; her blue eyes were wild, and Ivy licked her lips reflexively. “Either help me with this friggin’ plan or _eat me_ , but _pick one_!”

               “I think I’ll pick neither,” Poison Ivy giggled, and, turning her back, began to walk out of the room, her wide hips swinging side to side as she strutted past the piles of stolen evidence and valuable intel. She stopped at the doorway and turned back, shooting Harley Quinn a sideways glance. “I’m going to bed.”

               “ _What._ ” Harley’s flat question came out like a choke.

               “I’m _very_ tired,” Ivy explained, pouting coquettishly, “and I think I need some Girl Time before bed. Too bad you’re so busy – I was hoping you could join me.”

               Then she spun on her heel and sashayed out.

               Her fist shaking, Harley began to reach for the mallet, then changed her mind and bolted for the door. The bank would still be there tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! For more updates (and smutty writing) follow me on [Tumblr](https://nsfwtimedm.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Day 3 - Public Sex (Overwatch | Junkrat / Mei)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, it’s this pairing again. I headcanon Mei and Junkrat as the couple that’s super sweet in public, but super pervy when nobody else is around, so this one was an easy write. I’ll probably revisit this pairing later in Kinktober, so heads up. Enjoy!

               “Not so loud, snowflake! Someone’s gonna hear!”

               “I _know_ ,” Mei replied, sliding her tongue up the length of his shaft before licking the head once like a lollipop. “That’s what makes it so _exciting_!”

               Junkrat put his head back against the white tile wall and covered his face with his hands. In any other circumstance, a quick bathroom gobby would’ve had him grinning like a shot fox. When they first started dating, the Junker had been surprised at how quickly the climatologist switched gears from ‘research’ to ‘rip my clothes off,’ and he’d had no complaints, but this wasn’t the last stall in a hole-in-the-wall pub. This was a UN summit, and the rest of their team were out on the floor, addressing the necessity of Overwatch’s return in the face of a newly-resurgent Talon – and here he was, with Mei’s lips suckling around the tip of his prick like a hungry animal, her dark blue dress zipped open in the back letting those magnificent tits of hers hang free.

               He hadn’t seen her come in after him, hadn’t noticed her sneaking up behind until she grabbed him by the shoulders and practically flung him into the stall, hadn’t even had time to protest before she was on him, kissing him with needy lips, fumbling with his belt, pawing at the one nice pair of pants he owned. Junkrat’s own easily-distracted willpower had only held out for a second before he let her push him onto the toilet, yank his pants to his ankles, and go to town on his quickly-stiffening cock. If he’d had a bit more presence of mind, he might have noticed the hazy, almost drugged look in her eyes as she took his prick down her throat again and again – but he didn’t, and now he was just trying to keep quiet as she slurped, sucked, and slobbered on his knob. The powerful aphrodisiac, concocted in a Talon lab in South America, went as undetected as Junkrat hoped the two of them would be.

               When their tryst had begun, Mei had only played around with his head, bouncing it on her tongue and rubbing it against her cheeks, but now she was taking it all the way down and keeping it inside for as long as possible, making swallowing motions with the muscles in her throat, and tickling his balls with her lower lip. The upside was that most of the noise was now muffled, and Junkrat let himself relax just a little bit. The stalls were closed off from floor to ceiling on either side, and the doors were sturdy and thick; they just had to keep it down. _Easy, right?_

               To Junkrat’s horror, he heard the bathroom door swing open, followed by the sharp footsteps of several pairs of very expensive shoes.

               “Well, what do you think Ted?”

               “I think Overwatch has been acting for almost a year without jurisdiction, that’s what I think.”

               Junkrat put a prosthetic finger to his lips, his face curling up into a silent, desperate plea. Mei looked up and smiled.

               “Still, they’ve done a lot of good, don’t you think? Hearing about all those Talon operations that never even got off the ground…”

               “I know, I know, but they can’t operate with impunity. There’s a host of factors to consider.”

               Mei pulled back, leaving all seven inches of Junkrat’s spit-covered cock hang in the air while she held the head gingerly between her lips, giving it quick, teasing licks that sent Junkrat’s knees shaking.

               “Hey, did you see that Tracer girl? Oxton? I’ve got a factor I’d like _her_ to consider, eh?”

               “How about that scientist chick? The one that’s always on the Weather Channel? I saw her in the lobby earlier; her dress was so tight I could’ve sworn I saw the panty line!”

               Achingly slow, Mei pushed her head forward, sliding Junkrat’s full length past her lips to nestle in her mouth and throat, and she began to bob back and forth, conjuring white light at the edges of Junkrat’s vision. He had to bite his hand to silence himself as Mei sucked him closer and closer to ecstasy. One sound, one errant moan and not only would their personal reputations be ruined, but so would Overwatch’s.

                _Fuck, this is hot_ , Junkrat thought.

               Just as his hips began to buck, Mei’s hands shot up and locked around them, holding him in place and nullifying the threat of a squeaky toilet seat. She closed her eyes, and Junkrat detonated in her mouth, launching strings of cum directly down her throat as his cock swelled against her tongue. She swallowed without hesitation, the only sound the subdued _mnh mnh_ of her neck muscles contracting and carrying his payload down to her waiting stomach. Junkrat’s fingers curled in her hair, messing up the ‘do she’d spent nearly an hour on, but neither one of them cared in that sublime, torturous moment.

               “Guess we’d better get back to it.”

               “Yeah, can’t wait to see how much the _new_ Overwatch is gonna cost. Say, do you smell something?”

               Junkrat and Mei froze in place, his cock still halfway in her mouth, the last few drops trickling out on her tongue.

               “It’s a bathroom, Ted. Who knows what people get up to in this place?”

               The restroom door swung shut, and Junkrat sagged down, exhausted and spent, a sheen of sweat on his brow, staining his nice white shirt around the neck.

               “Mei…that was…” he began, but she put a finger to his lips, silencing him. Licking a white glob from her lips, she pulled her dark blue dress up, revealing her dark brown pantyhose now black with wetness. Junkrat was so busy staring he didn’t see her eyes, half-glazed and unfocused, nor the small red spot on her left arm where the Talon drug had first entered her system through a brushing contact with a concealed needle as she’d pushed through the crowd that morning. All he saw was her, glistening and waiting for him.

               “ _My_ turn,” Mei said, grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! For more updates (and smutty writing) follow me on [Tumblr](https://nsfwtimedm.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Day 4 - Bukakke (Warhammer 40k | Sister Brigena[OC] / a whole bunch of Chaos Marines)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Similar to day 2, I don’t have a whole lot of knowledge/experience/fondness with the listed kinks; knifeplay is kind of an uncomfortable subject for me, begging is sort of generic, and bukakke is…? I went with the last one just because I’d wanted to revisit my Endless Cry setting (which I swear I haven’t forgotten about). This one is just a little longer than the others, but it’s a 40k story, so that’s to be expected. Enjoy!

               Stirred by the heavy thump of ceramite boots on floor above her cell, Sister Brigena’s eyes fluttered open. In spite of the near total darkness, her head ached as if from staring into a bright light, and she closed her eyes once more even as the merciful veil of sleep slowly fell away. As she sat up on the cold metal floor and rubbed her temples, little by little the events of the past few days became clear once more: the outposts going dark one by one in a matter of minutes, the lightning rain of black and garish-pink drop pods, the abbey filled with dying screams and the most unholy music that had ever cursed her ears, the sight of her fellow Sisters—

               Hot, furious tears sprang from her aching eyes and she let them come, putting her head between her knees and sniffling quietly, feeling that there, alone in the dark and stripped naked of all but her faith, that she had been abandoned. Fingers with broken, blood-caked nails combed through her silver, shoulder-length hair, past the purpling bruise on her neck and up to the subtle lump at the base of her skull. She pressed it, and heard the softest beep in response as the tracker activated. A grim smile crept over her battle-hardened features; no matter what horror her fiendish captors had in store, the tracker would continue to send its distress signal. They could kill her, mount her skull like a trophy, but the Imperium would hear her, sooner or later, and it would come for her – to rescue or avenge, it would come all the same. Just as there was no escape for her, there would be no escape for them.

               With a metallic scrape, the ceiling of her cell was hauled back, revealing a thick grating separating her from the room above. Neon pink and sea-blue light streamed down, and she raised a hand to shield her eyes, but she did not retreat or run – though that was hardly her choice: the entire ceiling was an aperture, and her cell was a bare square that offered no hiding place. Music, cacophonous, bass-heavy, and muffled by the thick metal walls, assaulted her ears, but it was a welcome sound compared to what she heard next.

               “Welcome to the _Endless Cry_ , Sister!” the Chaos Marine barked with tawdry hospitality in an accent more befitting a street tough than an Astartes, squatting down on the grate above and knocking on it with an armored knuckle. The light was so bright she could barely make out any features save for a pink mohawk on top of an-otherwise shaved skull that was dotted with chemical injectors, and fluttering strips of dried skin hanging from his ceramite pauldrons, but the Chaos Marine’s teeth glowed fluorescent green, pulling back into a morbid grin. “Good to see you’re up an’ about; it’s feedin’ time!”

               “Let me out of this cell, heretic, and I’ll show you how hungry I am!” she hissed back, wobbling to her feet and clenching her fists until her knuckles turned white. The Chaos Marine laughed, a phlegmy cackle like corpses popping under tank treads, and shook his head.

               “Now, now, none a’ that, Sister,” he said, standing up. “You gotta keep up your strength, an’ me and my brothers are gonna help you out!”

               As if on cue, five more Chaos Marines stepped onto the grate above, nearly blocking out the flashing lights. Sister Brigena was almost grateful – almost.

               “Let’s fix up some dinner, brothers!”

               Backlit by the epileptic nightmare, the Chaos Marine’s movements were blurred, and it was hard for the Sister of Battle to figure out what exactly they were doing; the slap of metal against flesh reminded her of the sounds of flagellation that had filled the abbey halls on occasion, but if these monsters craved absolution, she thought, they would find it only in death. The way they chuckled to each other foully reminded her of the occasional catcalls she had endured during the parades following a planetary pacification. Of course, she had been able to burn the perverts alive then and there when they gave voice to their unclean thoughts, but now she could do nothing but gawk up and—

               One of the larger Chaos Marines, a towering brute with a vox-caster where his face used to be, gave a distorted roar, and a huge rope of cum splattered across Sister Brigena’s cheek.

               She was on the move at once, hand over her mouth and nose, trying to swallow the swiftly-rising bile in her throat _and_ dodge the cum as it began to rain down on her, but the cell was completely without cover, and the Chaos Marines were as accurate with their corrupted cocks as they were with their bolters.

               The fifth sticky string landed across Sister Brigena’s shoulders, and she lost control, dry heaving and cursing in the same breath. They must have pumped her stomach before imprisoning her, for nothing came but acrid air and a sandpaper burn in her throat. She tried to brush the cum off of her neck, and another glob splattered across her forehead instead.

               Two more of the Chaos Marines blew their loads as they howled in unison, and the resulting splashdown covered Sister Brigena’s back entirely as she turned away. Her sticky face burned crimson, and she felt tears mingle with the semen on her cheeks, but she would not look up, not even in defiance; as enraged and humiliated as she felt, she would not give them the satisfaction. Let them dump whatever they wanted to on her back.

               Dump they did, for soon the last three Chaos Marines came, emptying their balls across her body and in her hair; Sister Brigena knelt and began to pray silently, even as the semen streamed off of her back and pooled around her feet and toes. If other saints had endured far worse, she could stomach this, she thought. As if in response to her resurgence of determination, the first Chaos Marine to empty his balls began to empty them _again_ , sending fresh jets of pinkish-white cum directly onto her hair, which had become a matted mess in only a matter of seconds.

               Now her disbelief was total; she knew that Astartes were far beyond the capabilities of any human, but to possess virtually no refractory period? If she hadn’t been so infuriated, she would’ve been impressed. The other Chaos Marines followed in like, and now it was dribbling down her chest and neck, dripping off of her exposed breasts and nipples that had become annoyingly erect ( _in response to the cold cell_ , she told herself), and over her tight abdomen. She quickly wiped the streams away before it spilled any lower, but she feared she had made it worse; her hands were coated in cum, covered in it, and they stank like a brothel at the height of an opioid epidemic.

               After a moment, she realized the onslaught had ceased, and she chanced a glance above. The Chaos Marines still stood in a circle above her, the grate dripping with already-drying semen, but the one with the Mohawk was clearly frowning, crossing his arms in displeasure.

               “It’s damned rude not to eat your dinner,” he growled with a huff. “You want to starve?”

               “I would sooner starve than—”

               All five Chaos Marines came simultaneously, firing a gooey white volley that hit Sister Brigena right in the mouth, cutting her off mid-sentence. She coughed, gagged, and choked, but still swallowed a heft portion of the cum before she could stop herself. Immediately she felt her brain light up like a target grid as the trace amounts of stimulants in the Chaos Marines’ corrupted cum entered her system in a matter of seconds, and as she tried to take a step backwards, to get away from the five-pricked assault, she slipped on a puddle and fell on her back. The heretics wasted no time, and in the blink of an eye every inch of her skin was covered in a globby layer of semen; she tried to paw it off, but any uncovered flesh was quickly coated again. As the room began to spin, Sister Brigena caught a vox conversation amidst the cruel laughter of her jailers.

               “Hey, Dariuxis, it’s Rhabas. Listen, we got a Sororita down here what just got her first taste a’ Chaos cum, and I think she likes it. Wanna come down and give’er some a’ your special sauce?”

               A second – or an hour – later, the light above Sister Brigena dimmed as a hulking shape took position on the grate above her. The other Chaos Marines snapped to a semblance of attention when the titan entered the room, and now they backed away, giving it a wide berth. Emerald lenses set deep in a tusked Terminator helmet blazed into her own glassy blue eyes, and a shiver of horror sliced through Sister Brigena’s haze as she saw one of the Emperor’s Children elite press a button on its wrist. The Terminator armor’s codpiece slid open, and a nubbed, purple prick as long and twice as wide as Sister Brigena’s arm flopped out into a waiting power fist, which began to pump up and down rapidly.

               Sister Brigena was paralyzed by a potent mixture of shock, horror, and swiftly rising desire, and found herself unable to do anything but watch, her eyes wide, her mouth gaping, and when the elite finally came, she lay on her back like a willing sacrifice in spite of every instinct screaming to _run_ , resigned and accepting as white rained down.

               The other five Chaos Marines had come like a downpour, coating her with a rapid-fire assault of globs and ropes, but when the elite began to drain his balls, it was like a torrent, like a firehose, like a flood. It hit her in the chest and did not stop, splashing into her face and across her stomach; she closed her mouth and turned away to breathe, but every gulp of air brought with it a now-overwhelming stench of half-salt musk, and an echo of exotic spice. The puddle beneath her grew until it was a pool, until it spread to the very corners of the cell, and then it began to rise, centimeter by centimeter, filling the cell slowly but surely.

               How such an insane amount of semen could be stored in a single body, Astartes or not, was beyond Sister Brigena; no doubt a gift from the Ruinous Powers, she assumed. _A fine gift indeed_.

               The cum level rose further, up past her ankles, up to her most holy entrance, and then higher still; she put her hands behind her back to push herself up, but her hands slipped in the white goo and she fell backwards, plunging back into the nearly thirty centimeters of cum that now filled with bottom of the cell. The willpower to lift herself out of it vanished to nothing as it seeped into her ears, over her cheeks, up her nose – she opened her mouth to breathe and cum poured in the corners. She swallowed without hesitation, and wondered if she could drown in it. _Perhaps not the worst way to go_.

               Coughing and sputtering, she scrambled to her feet, wiping the cum off of her body with sticky, gummy hands. The torrent above slowed to a trickle, then finally stopped, and the Chaos Marines above burst into raunchy laughter, launching insults down at her in between guffaws.

               “Nice work, Dariuxis. Don’t know where you keep it all,” the one called Rhabas joked as he slapped the elite on the shoulder.

               “Ask your mother,” came the sepulchral reply, and the terminator stomped out of the room with a rumbling chuckle, followed by the other four Chaos Marines. Only Rhabas stayed behind, squatting down on the grate above again.

               Sister Bregina trembled and covered herself as best she could, her shakes sending ripples out in the nearly knee-deep cum on the floor, but she did not look up.

               “Aw, don’t be embarrassed, Sister!” the Chaos Marine growled with mocking reassurance. “Happens to _everybody_ their first time.” The heretic stood up and walked off, then returned shortly afterwards with a bucket; he pried the grate open, dropped the bucket in next to the shaking Sororita, and closed it again. “You need to take a powder, use that.” The bucket was too short, and cum immediately started pouring into it; Sister Brigina snatched it up, but still averted her eyes. The Chaos Marine chuckled. “Guess you’re gonna have to start eatin’ if you don’t want to shit where you sleep, eh?”

               Sister Brigina finally glared up at the Chaos Marine, blue eyes burning through semen-encrusted eyelashes. The Chaos Marine smiled, stood, and grabbed the floor/ceiling panel.

               “I’ll be back in a week, and when I do, all that spooge better be gone, Sister, or you’re gonna be eatin’ somethin’ else for the rest a’ your life instead a’ the fruit a’ my loins,” the heretic chuckled, and gave her a ceramite thumbsup. “Best slurp it up before it gets hard. Cheers.”

               Another metallic scrape and Sister Brigena was in darkness, clutching a bucket, hearing only Rhabas’ muffled marrow-cackle dying away, and then hearing nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, BAD END! Or is it? We'll see.
> 
> Thanks for reading! For more updates (and smutty writing) follow me on [Tumblr](https://nsfwtimedm.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Day 5 - Body Swap (Lorilee[OC] / Terica [OC])

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one I was really excited about, but I decided to put a little different spin on it. I’ve been on a cyberpunk kick lately, and I wanted to do something with that, so that’s why this reads a lot less like a ‘traditional’ body swapping story. This one’s also a little more on the longer side compared to the other Kinktober shorts (trying to not make it a habit), but I hope you’ll enjoy nonetheless!

               Lorilee’s eyes opened slowly, taking in the dimly-lit room as it gradually came into focus: a dull, fluorescent lamp above her head trickled off-yellow illumination into the Hosting chamber, while the canyon of ruby neon outside the window streamed red beams across the industrial-crate walls like the eyes of an angry machine, bouncing off the mirrored walls and staining the large, white bed a murderous crimson. A computer monitor descended from the mass of wires and rusted pipes that made up the chamber’s ceiling, moving into position above her as she reclined in the synch-throne, and it blinked to life after a few false starts. Familiar words began to scroll across the middle of the screen:

                _Hello! In order to ensure a complete and successful synchronization, please look at the lights on all four sides of the screen._

               Four orange dots appeared, one in the middle of each side of the monitor.

                _Please look at all four dots in the following—_

Up, down, left, right. As used to the routine as she was, Lorilee was almost surprised at how quickly her Host’s eyes responded. _She must do quite often_ , she thought.

               The rest of the synch check – the finger and arm raising, the leg kicks, and so on – went just as fast.

                _Perfect synchronization! Welcome, [LORILEE DAVIS]. Would you like to know your Host’s details?_

“Yes.” No matter how many times she had used a Hosting service, hearing her words in someone else’s voice was always a bit like waking up from a falling dream to Lorilee.

                _Your Host for today is [TERICA MASAYO]! Her participation level is set to [UNCONSCIOUS NON-PARTICIPANT]. She is cleared for [HETEROSEXUAL], [HOMOSEXUAL], and [TRANSSEXUAL] activity with [HUMAN], [ENHANCED], and [SYNTHETIC] partners! Her activity consent level is [3X]! [3X] activity includes [ORAL], [VAGINAL], and [ANAL] penetration, as well as group activities involving up to [5] other partners! Her privacy filter is set to [PERSONAL USE]; an uncensored recording of this Hosting session may be purchased after the Hosting session is concluded, but any usage beyond personal viewing is subject to prosecution by [TERICA MASAYO], as well as Bestere Hosting Services, Inc. Enjoy!_

The monitor retracted into the ceiling as the synch-throne tilted forward, placing Lorilee on her feet, and she carefully walked to the wall-length mirror on the far side of the room, her hands slightly out to the side in case of a phantom movement. There were none, however, and if not for the fact that she knew she was seeing, hearing, feeling through someone else, Lorilee would’ve thought it was her own body – until she saw ‘herself,’ at least.

               Her Host was short, even in the four-inch platform boots, skinny up top, with pert B-cups easily held in check by the red, shoulder-less bodysuit, and thicker around the bottom, with a pleasantly plump rear that hinted at lot of junk food in-between grudging trips to the gym. She had a pretty, light-brown face with a strong jaw, full lips that pulled down in a resting frown, a wide, upturned nose with a smattering of freckles across it, and clearly-augmented teal eyes draped on either side by jaw-length, snow-white hair. Even without the borderline-garish white-and-red makeup she was beautiful, but Lorilee couldn’t help noticing the deep, dark circles under her Host’s eyes, and she wondered just _how_ often her Host did this.

               Suppressing those troubling thoughts, Lorilee stripped out of the red bodysuit, marveling at the hexagonal patterns in the fabric that shimmered as it fell to the ground, then yelped aloud as she realized her Host’s entire left arm was prosthetic.

               “How the fuck…” she wondered aloud, holding the mechanical hand out in front of the mirror. Soft black plating over a red nanofiber weave, the fingers opened and closed as the wrist swiveled back and forth, all utterly without sound. Lorilee had used Hosts with prosthetic limbs before, but never this sophisticated; Host prosthetics rarely synched up fully in her experience, but this…this felt real. She dragged the cool, black fingertips over her flesh arm, her shoulder, her chest, and down to give her nipples (which she noticed were pierced with small, silver barbells) a playful tweak. She felt everything: the warmth of her skin, the hardness of the barbell, _everything_.

               Glancing at the clock, a flickering LCD bar over the chamber’s single door, Lorilee realized she still had about ten minutes until the services she ordered arrived, and she let herself fall backwards onto the bed. The nanite mattress caressed her bare body like welcoming water, and, with her legs hanging off the edge, she let her hands tickle over her stomach and down to her groin, where her Host’s tight pussy had just started to leak moisture into the warm night. Trying one set of fingers, then the other, Lorilee quickly realized the synthetic hand was just too smooth to get the required amount of stimulation she wanted, so she stayed ‘old school,’ pressing her middle and ringer fingers together against the Host’s clit and rubbing in circles. The prosthetic hand she let wander, stroking her stomach, breasts, and neck; the cool sensation was enough of a disconnect that, for a moment here and there, Lorilee almost felt as if she was being caressed by a stranger.

                _Christ, I miss this._

               A particularly lewd idea popping into her head, Lorilee flipped over on her stomach – still keeping her real hand stroking her love button at a steady pace – and reached back with her prosthetic arm, dragging the digits across her Host’s round bottom, and giving herself a few playful slaps before zeroing in on her tight asshole, which puckered reflexively at her own touch.

                _Well, if I’m getting one hole ready, I might as well get the other one too_ , she thought, and licked her lips. The taste of strawberries flooded her senses as her tongue reacted to the flavored lipstick, and she slowly pressed a synthetic finger down. As she’d thought, the smooth prosthesis slid inside easily, and she was up to her knuckle almost immediately. Egged on and turned on, she added a second finger, then a third a moment later; now she was feeling the pressure, and she began to wiggle the fingers back and forth, stretching out her Host’s ass in a delightful way that made her legs shake and the circular rhythm in her right hand grow irregular. She was close now, no doubt, and a damn sight quicker than she ever could have in her own body thanks to the youth of her Host, but she wasn’t ready just yet. She needed something more.

               Holding her breath, Lorilee pushed her index finger up her Host’s ass; the cybernetic digit slipped past the straining sphincter to join the other three fingers, and Lorilee was so incredulous she almost loss concentration. Even at the height of her past debauchery, she had always needed lube for her backdoor, but now here was this young, beautiful girl with a robot arm that could slide inside without needing a single drop; no struggle, just pressure – wonderful, _wonderful_ pressure. She splayed her fingers out inside, and in the middle of that pressure came a dull, muffled rumble of pain. Like a ball of snow starting an avalanche, the single wave of ache kickstarted her orgasm – she always _did_ have a masochist kink – and her body shuddered, her Host’s toes curling and kicking against the cold metal floor, creating so much noise she didn’t hear the door behind her open. She bit onto the bedsheets and groaned into the mattress, hoarse and low, as the layers of pleasure shattered along her nerve endings until she lay there, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her limbs feeling like they were made of jelly.

               “Quite a show,” a deep voice said behind her, and she clumsily flipped back over.

               Her order had arrived, and they were currently eyeing her with hungry looks, their pants bulging obscenely. A short Asian in a mesh shirt (winged eyeliner, green hair, and lips made for kissing), an older decker with a salt and pepper beard (prosthetic eyes, a hairy chest she wanted to run her fingers over), a tall, muscular woman with star tattoos up her arms (short skirt, her cock hanging long beneath it _fuck YES_ ), and a towering synthetic with a grinning skeleton face (repurposed military model, plate across chest reading ‘THIS ROBOT IS TRAINED TO FUCK YOUR MOUTH’) stared down, ready and waiting.

               “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she said, and beckoned them over to the bed. Terica’s body was about to earn her one hell of a tip.

+++

Epilogue I:

               Lorilee’s eyes opened slowly as Sammy lifted the synch helmet from her head and disengaged the stationary brakes on her cranial platform. With a dreamy sigh, she floated up to his eye level and smiled. He nervously smiled back, then quickly redirected his eyes to the floor.

               “Nuh-uh, Sammy. Eyes up here,” she chided, and he reluctantly looked back up. Working for her for nearly half a year and he _still_ got the jitters around her; he’d acted this way since she met him at her front door and he realized he’d answered a ‘caretaker wanted’ ad from the most prolific pornstar of the last fifty years – what was left of her, anyway, after a publicity stunt with a sentient lifter unit went almost as bad as it possibly could, and she was reduced to a still-living head wired into a circular hover platform – and he never stopped acting like it. Silver-speckled red hair draped over the carbon-grey of the hover pod, and although she was nearly seventy, a mixture of natural good looks (pink lips, high cheekbones, kind green eyes) and rejuvenation treatments meant she hardly looked a day over thirty-five.

               “Did you have a good session, Ms. Davis?” he politely asked, fidgeting with his hands. She wondered if he knew what exactly she did in those sessions, but she wagered, based on her uncharacteristically good moods after she was finished, that he could probably guess. She also wagered that he jacked off to her when she wasn’t in the room, and _definitely_ when he went home, but many men (and women) would do the same thing; it’d been two years since her accident, and if the thousands of Zen a day she was still making off her royalties was any indication, there was certainly still demand for her – or at least the memory of her.

               “Mmmm…yes, I did,” she purred more sensually than she had intended, her mind still a bit hazy from both the re-synch and the experience of getting fucked in every hole for over an hour. “Thank you for asking.” He nodded awkwardly, and swallowed hard.

               “C-can I get you anything?”

               Sammy was blonde, skinny, almost androgynous; cute, in spite of the spinelessness. One of these days she was going to blow him just for the hell of it.

               “That’ll be all,” she sighed. A Google search into prosthetic bodies had popped up from one of the three holo-projectors on her cranial platform before he was even out of the room. She scanned through the models with a thought, peering through an assortment that ranged from flat and plain to endowed beyond reason with three inch waistlines and quadruple H-cup tits that probably doubled as flotation devices. Augmentation and prosthetics were still relatively taboo in mainstream porn; whenever a star got an upgrade, it had to be concealed, and if they were injured, that usually spelled out ‘forced retirement.’ Aneeda Mann, Kira Kova, Yaman Yutani…they all ‘went cyber,’ and now they were doing camshows instead of gangbangs. Still, Cayla O’Heron had lost an arm, but she replaced it with a second prosthetic vagina and now her sales were almost up to previous levels. Hell, Saba Zhevskova lost her whole lower body, had herself mounted on a tank base, and now MISTRESS FUCKMACHINE was a staple in bondage flicks.

               If anybody could make it, it’d be Lorilee “I tried to fuck a Lifter” Davis.

               Lorilee minimized the window and listened; down the hall, she could hear Sammy panting as he wanked in the bathroom as quietly as she could. She smiled and licked her lips. _If I’m going to get back in the game,_ she thought, _I’m gonna need more practice._

               “Oh Sammy,” she called.

               “Y-yes?!” her caretaker called back, his voice breaking in surprise.

               “Could you come in here a moment? I _do_ need something.”

Epilogue II:

               Terica rubbed her jaw with one hand and her temples with the other. Everything below her waist was aching, and she felt like someone had tried – repeatedly – to drive a hover train down her throat and up both of her holes. Still, it wasn’t all bad; whoever her Host had been had the good manners to wash her off and get her dressed up again before the session was over – that was nice for a change.

               She tenderly limped over to the wall panel and inserted her Zen chit, resting her aching head on the screen as it scrolled out the results of her labors.

                _Congratulations on a successful Hosting session, [TERICA MASAYO]! Your client, [LORILEE DAVIS], gave you a [5 star] rating! Congratulations! This qualifies you for…_

“Yeah, she fuckin’ better have,” Terica mumbled, rubbing her sore ass. “Wait, _who was my client_?”

                _Lorilee Davis._

               “THE Lorilee Davis?!”

               The screen, being nothing but an e-receipt printer, did not respond, and continued its readout heedless.

                _…free meal at [SAD SUSHI] for [ONE MONTH]! Your client, [LORILEE DAVIS], left you a tip of…_

               Terica’s breath caught in her throat.

               [ _2,500 ZEN]! Congratulations on your improved service, this marks a [650%] increase from your personal tip average!_

Terica didn’t say another word. She yanked the ZEN chit out of the machine, threw open the door, and bolted out of the Hosting center. The night was wet and warm, rain pouring down through sparking red signs, drenching the huddled masses as they shuffled to and from different appointments, each one meaningless as the last. She stuffed the chit down her bodysuit and started to run, and a moment later, she started to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to do more with these characters in the future, but gotta finish Kinktober first!
> 
> Thanks for reading! For more updates (and smutty writing) follow me on [Tumblr](https://nsfwtimedm.tumblr.com/)!


	6. Day 6 - Bondage/Bonds (Telepathic or Empathic) (Overwatch | Sombra / Symmetra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In keeping with yesterday’s theme of better sex through technology, I decided to type up something involving two Overwatch ladies and both of these kinks. It’s not EXACTLY a telepathic/empathic bond, but I think it fits the theme nonetheless. Just as a headsup (warning?) I headcanon Sombra as transgender female, so hopefully that doesn’t catch anyone by surprise. There’s some smut that I wanted to write about the two of them meeting, and this short actually serves as kind of a sequel to that; I guess it’s a spoiler alert for a story I haven’t written yet? I dunno. I tried to keep the extraneous Spanish to a minimum since I took two years of it in high school and promptly forgot it. Enjoy!

                “¡Vengaaaaa!”

                Sombra struggled with her sweatpants, almost tearing them off as the mild vibration in her lower abdomen started up once more. The purple boyshorts were next, balled up and tossed across the room with a frustrated grunt. Sombra sat down, crossed her arms, and glared at her crotch, staring fiery laser death into the chastity cage around her forcefully-limp cock that gleamed back in pristine white and glowing Vishkar blue accents. On the holo-monitors next to her, the Bank of England’s accounts lay waiting, practically begging to be skimmed, and the hacker briefly considered trying to multitask; this was such a common occurrence, surely she could hold her concentration long enough to glean a few thousand pounds. As if in response to her thought, she began to feel a sympathetic pulse from her ass, and slid out of her chair onto the hardwood floor with a groan.

                _No use in getting the chair messy_ , she decided.

                Over 9,000 miles away, Satya Vaswani’s eyes were practically glued to the mini-screen projected in the palm of her prosthetic left hand, watching Sombra’s body reacting to the stimulation with barely-contained interest. Her plaything’s cock was already straining against the confines of its cage, and the twin internal vibrators, though only on their second-to-lowest setting, were tightening the hacker’s body like a coil being wound up. Satya always took pride in her constructions, but Sombra’s cage was a work of sublime genius and infernal insidiousness, and the architech’s ego (and libido) skyrocketed whenever she thought of it.

                Although it appeared as an ordinary – if aesthetically-futuristic – chastity device that concealed the wearer’s penis and circled around the testicles, the cage held a secret weapon: two tiny but incredibly powerful vibrators; the first mounted on a small augment that extended down from the circle, across the perineum, and inside the anus where it nestled snugly against the prostate through the rectall wall, and the second mounted partway along the catheter inside the cage that stimulated the prostate directly from within. Each vibrator was programmed with fifty different patterns, could work independently or in concert with one another, and – most importantly – could be activated remotely. For the wearer, there was no escape or way to dampen the vibrations, and Satya intended to keep it that way.

                Sombra slammed the floor with her fist, growling through clenched teeth as her hips began to jerk in response to the waves of pressure rolling out from her groin. She wanted to tear the cage off and wank herself into oblivion, but all attempts at removal had met with agonizing failure: trying to physically pull or pry it off had not only been extremely painful, but had set off some sort of security measure that delivered a series of electric shocks right to her prostate, and trying to hack whatever merciless technology held it in place had been even worse, earning her a chiding, remote lecture from the smug Vishkar bitch that had put the awful thing on her in the first place, followed by eight hours of prostate milking and dry, ruined orgasms that left her unable to walk steady for nearly three days. It was easier just to accept what small modicum of relief the vibrations provided – it wasn’t as if Sombra hadn’t gotten off with just her ass in the past before her addition – but the principle of someone else pulling her strings, owning her pleasure, _controlling_ her, burned in Sombra’s mind at all hours, and so she never stopped fighting it, even when she dipped into ecstasy for a few sweaty seconds before lapsing back into ache, even when the shadow of _anticipation_ had begun to mingle with her frustration whenever the vibrations started again.

                Satya activated the auditory sensor in the cage, and Sombra’s panting breaths filled Satya’s bedroom like the early afternoon sun, needy grunts rebounding off of sterile white walls and silken white sheets. Reclining in her chair, Satya let her right hand wander over her thighs and under her dress to the warm wetness beneath. She was surprised at how turned-on she had gotten just from watching Sombra’s muscles contract, tightening and releasing in response to the stimulation radiating out from her prostate, but now listening to her drove Satya to bite her own lip, pressing her palm to her clitoris as she slipped a finger inside herself. In a day-to-day existence defined by order and cleanliness, even this basic act gave her an illicit thrill that had little comparison; maybe this day she’d actually taste herself as she’d fantasized about so many times before. Probably not, though.

                A string of Spanish expletives signaled Satya that her plaything was close, and she relished in the sound, the desperate, breathless syllables as Sombra was dragged grudgingly towards the edge even as she fought it all the way. The hacker’s voice was needy, begging, grunting, even shouting, and Satya thought she heard the sound of fingers scraping on hardwood floor. This was the part that Satya loved most, holding the haughty hacker in her palm and listening to her pleas for release. The architech had wondered just how far she could push Sombra, and what the hacker might be willing to do if properly incentivized, but she reminded herself that was the long game. Once those grunts of frustration had turned to mewls of thankfulness, once Sombra spoke of her as ‘mistress’ instead of ‘bitch,’ once the hacker was as broken and obedient at all times as she had been for a few precious minutes when Satya had first interrogated her that night two months ago, only then could she take their little game to the next level. Until then, it was satisfying enough to make the hacker writhe like a worm on a hook every day. With her thumb, Satya amped up the vibrators to 35%.

                Sombra cried out, the prostate orgasm sending her into a convulsion; she stamped her feet, squeezed her breasts until they hurt, anything to drive her further down into that feeling. She shook all over, droplets of sweat flying across the room, and found herself curling up into a fetal position as the vibrations just didn’t stop. For a moment, she almost didn’t mine not being able to touch her cock. A small port on the front of her chastity cage opened, and a thick load of warm cum leaked out onto her twitching leg, each vibration wave conjuring more of the fluid out of her aching prostate. She barely noticed. Gradually the vibrators ceased, and she lay there on the floor, curled up in a ball, telling herself over and over how much she hated this, as if she repeated it enough she would believe it.

                Satya sighed and retracted her hand as the last aftershocks of her own orgasm died away. She looked at her fingers, soaked in her own juices, and opened her mouth tentatively, then changed her mind and wobbled over to the sink. After she washed her hands, she plopped back down and began to think, already anticipating their next little session. A perverse idea popped into her head, and a design of automated nipple piercings appeared in her mind’s eye, mobile versions of those ‘interrogation’ tools she had used on the hacker in the past. _Could it be done?_ she wondered, already knowing the answer. Activating the chastity cage’s tracker beacon, Satya concluded that it was time she visited her pet in person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! For more updates (and smutty writing) follow me on [Tumblr](https://nsfwtimedm.tumblr.com/)!


	7. Day 7 - Creampie/Crossdressing (Overwatch | Junkrat x Mei)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look it’s this pairing AGAIN. I can’t help it, I love these two. So putting up a Christmas story in the middle of October feels somewhat sacrilegious, but truthfully this story’s been sitting in my head since last winter. Like I said, Mei and Jamison seem like the couple that’s super sweet in public, but super kinky/adventurous behind closed doors. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! For more updates (and smutty writing) follow me on [Tumblr](https://nsfwtimedm.tumblr.com/)!

             “Where is it? Where _is_ it?!”

               Mei rummaged underneath her bed, searching for the wide, flat box made of red and green cardboard, but finding nothing behind the two footlockers that had (she thought) served as its hiding spot. The closet was equally box-less, as was her chest of drawers. She even looked in the kitchen, underneath the sink, in the hall closet too, but came up empty. Mei groaned in frustration, and she plopped down on the couch in the apartment living room, dragging her fingers through her hair.

                _Jamison’s gonna be up here any minute! Where the FUCK could I have put it?!_

“Lookin’ for somethin’, snowflake?” came the query from the back bathroom. Mei’s eyes widened as she saw a long leg with a black leather boot at the end curl seductively around the doorway.

               “…Jamie?”

               “Hit it, Athens!”

               On cue, the warm lighting in the room flipped to a moody green and red as the first notes of “Santa Baby” began to play through the apartment intercom. The boot gave a playful kick, the oversized gold buckle gleaming in the Christmas lights, and disappeared again.

                _“Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me!_

_Been an awful good girl,_

_Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight!”_

Jamison sauntered around the corner and struck a pose, knees bent, hip out, and Mei’s jaw dropped like a stone.

               There he was, draped in the ‘Sexy Ms. Claus’ nightie that had been hiding under her bed for the last three weeks, complete with matching Santa cap, red-stocking gloves, and single leather boot. The nightie draped loosely around his thin body, but what it lacked in form-fitting appeal it made up by being scandalously short, barely covering his groin, the faux-fur trimming leaving _just_ enough to Mei’s imagination. Thanks to Jamison’s wild hair, the red cap sat more atop his head than actually _on_ it, and the black boot was clearly too big; to anyone else he would’ve looked comical, ridiculous, but it sent Mei from 0 to 100 in a single glance.

               Wobbling to her feet, Mei opened her mouth to speak, but Jamison, with surprising grace, _sashayed_ over to her and pushed her back to the couch with one insistent finger, which he then waggled just in front of her nose.

               “Nuh-uh, snowflake,” he purred, sticking his tongue out between his teeth. “Ain’t time to open ya’ presents just yet.”

               He turned his back to her, sticking out his hips in the process, and flashing his goods as the nightie draped over his bare backside. Mei swallowed hard, but her mouth and throat had gone dry as Ayers’ Rock. What certainly _wasn’t_ dry was the boy-short panties beneath her leggings, and her legs reflexively closed. Then Jamison started dance, and Mei, as it might be said, lost her god damn mind.

                _“Think of all the fun I’ve missed!_

_Think of all the fellas I haven’t kissed!_

_Next year I could be oh-so-good_

_if you’ll check off my Christmas list…”_

               Waving from side to side, Jamison twisted and wiggled in front of her, letting his gloved hands wander across his back and thighs like a lover’s. His hips gyrated in a slow, hula-hoop motion, around and around, in a way Mei had caught glimpses of in her bedroom mirror whenever they left the lights on, and when he winked at her over his shoulder, it was all Mei could do to keep from jumping him immediately, instead letting out a pitiful little whine.

               Grinning like a shot fox, Jamison backed up, wiggling his cute little but with every step, until he was right in front of the couch. Putting his hands behind his back, he pushed Mei’s legs apart (she didn’t have the willpower to stop him even if she’d wanted to) and nestled down into her lap with his own legs half off the couch. Mei’s hands were on him almost before he started to grind against her, dragging over the velvet-soft nightie, pulling at the white fringes, and diving underneath to that half-mast cock she loved so much; with a nervous giggle closer to the scoundrel she was used to, he delicately took her wrists and placed them back at her sides, shaking his head as he did so.

               “Rude to shake your presents before you open’em, Dr. Zhou,” he whispered. Mei bit her lip and put her forehead on his shoulder, but obediently kept her hands away. Once upon a time it had driven her up the wall when he called her by her honorific; now it drove her up the wall in a completely different way. It was almost disturbing how well he knew how to push her buttons. Not that _she_ didn’t know how to push _his_ buttons too, but _oooooooh I want him I want him right NOW!_

               “ _Santa baby, and fill my stick with a duplex, and checks!_

_Sign your X on the line,_

_Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight!”_

               Far from his jerky, twitch-like gait, he was rubbing his rear against her in an almost-fluid motion, a glorious circle that pushed past her thighs and right up to her soaked-through leggings.

                _He’s got nothing on! He has to know!_ Mei thought, feeling her panties _squish_ with each pass.

               Resting his hands on her thighs, Jamison leaned back, turned his head, and started planting little kisses up Mei’s neck, stopping to nibble on her earlobe.

                _No more Dr. Nice Climatologist!_

               A leg-twitching spasm shot up Mei’s spine, and her hands were on him again, scraping fingernails across his stomach, reached down to his—

               “Alright, alright!” Jamison yelped as he hopped to his feet, all sense of grace abandoned. Mei glared at him.

               “Jamison Fawkes!” she barked, and he stepped back again. “Fuck me _now_!”

               He held out his finger in a ‘one moment’ gesture, and she batted it away.

               “Not kidding! Right now!”

               Slipping back into his seductive persona, Jamison reached into the ‘cleavage’ of the nightie and produced a sprig of mistletoe with a flourish. Mei rolled her eyes, but also let out a squeal as he dropped to his knees, crawled over, and, holding it just above her bellybutton, started to kiss up the side of her leg.

               Mei lunged forward, grabbed him by his oversized chin, and stared him straight in the eye.

               “Fuck me. Now. Your penis. My vagina. Right. This. Instant.”

               Jamison flicked the mistletoe over his shoulder with a grin.

               Without another word, he grabbed her legs and tossed her on her back, pulling her shapely backside over the edge of the couch. He yanked her leggings down to her knees, taking her panties with them, and crawled up between her legs, letting his hands wander underneath her sweater, squeezing and caressing her breasts as their mouths met in a hot, hungry kiss that made Mei’s head swim. With his free hand, he lined up his cock with her waiting entrance and pushed in a second later, sliding inside to the hilt almost immediately, her wetness drenching his own crotch. She moaned into his mouth, but wouldn’t have broken the kiss for the world, and their tongues wrapped around one another, her glasses pushed up to her forehead by Jamison’s nose.

               The Junker started to fuck her, hard and fast, his thighs slapping against her rear, making the round flesh ripple with each thrust. She actually started to piston her hips against his, slamming up into him every time he slammed down into her, the two lovers desperately pounding together as if the world was ending that night. She clawed his back, feeling the faux-fur tearing under her fingernails, but couldn’t have cared less; she was so hot, _fuck_ she was so hot, and sweat flicked off of her writhing body across the couch.

               So turned on even before they started, it wasn’t long before Mei came, and when she came, she came _loud_ , almost screaming in Junkrat’s face as she started to lose control. Her body shook and shivered, her legs locking around Jamison’s tiny waist as she cried out, biting down on the Junker’s lip in a lustful hiss. Feeling her inner walls spasm against his cock as the edges of his vision began to haze, Jamison made an effort to disengage, but the climatologist’s legs had him in a death grip.

               “Cummin’, snowflake! Gotta let me go!” he choked out, trying to push off of the couch and escape.

               “Do it! Cum inside me!”

               Part of Jamison’s brain sat back in amazement, running his hands through his figurative hair.

                _Wow, she’s never said that before_ , that tiny part thought, _she must be REALLY ‘round the bend!_

                _Shut up and let’s fuckin’ get to it, then!_ the rest of his brain roared.

               Ramming his hips against her one last time, Junkrat exploded inside Mei, coating her cooch with hot, gooey warmth that seemed to spread through her whole body, dragging out the not-quite-concluded orgasm further. He squirmed on top of her, shoulders shaking as his cock twitched, sending further sticky shots even deeper inside with every ball-shaking mini-thrust. After one final effort, he collapsed onto her chest, pillowed between her lovely breasts as she gently danced her fingernails up and down his back, cum trickling slowly out of her pussy and down onto the carpet.

                _“Come and trim my Christmas tree_

_with some decorations bought at Tiffany!_

_I really do believe in you,_

_let’s see if you believe in me!”_

               Mei licked her lips, and realized she tasted cherry. Looking down between her breasts, smooshed against her sweater, she saw Jamison was actually wearing lipstick, along with glitter eyeshadow and wingtip eyeliner. She tilted his chin up with her finger, and he grinned crookedly back.

                _Damn, his edges look better than mine_ , she thought. _It’s a good look._

               “Where’d you learn to dance like that?” Mei asked.

               “Uh, eheh, I’ll, uh, I’ll tell you later,” he giggled nervously, then, regaining his composure, planted another kiss right on her lips. “But only if you’re _naughty_.”

               She reached down and squeezed his butt; his hips jerked forward, and she felt him start to stiffen again.

               “I’ve been very, _very_ naughty this year,” she admitted, pouting her lips with a predatory glint in her eye that turned Jamison on even more – and also slightly terrified him. “Ooooh, maybe you should _punish_ me!”

               Through the wall, Ana and Reinhardt heard Jamison’s nervous laughter muffled by Mei’s kiss, and they turned to another.

               “I _told_ you it’d work,” Reinhardt laughed, grinning as he wiped away a drop of eggnog from his beard. “It worked on _you_!”

               “Fine, fine,” Ana sighed, tossing up her hands in mock exasperation. “You win, I suppose.”

               “Surely you are not thinking of welching?” he asked, putting the cap back on the plastic bottle.

               “That depends,” she stated, a smirk working its way across her battle-aged features, “are you _not_ going to carry me to the bedroom and fuck me until I can’t walk straight?”

               A puzzled look came over Reinhardt’s face as he tried to work out the double negative. Ana rolled her eye, opened her robe, and let it drop to the floor, revealing her snowflake-patterned lingerie.

               “Means ‘no,’” she cooed.

               Reinhardt threw the bottle into the fridge, slammed the door, and charged.


	8. Day 8 - Deep-throat (Overwatch | Jack Morrison x Gabriel Reyes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re back with some Reaper76 (does it count as Reaper76 if neither of them are Reaper or Soldier 76?)! I’m gonna try and get these knocked out as fast as possible to catch up with the current schedule, but no promises.

                “Come _on_.”

                “I told you, I’m done,” Gabriel grunted, as he grinned smugly up at Jack. Even on his knees, with hands and feet bound together, he was still in control – or at least that’s how Jack felt as he futilely pressed his erect, spit-soaked cock against his kneeling partner’s unyielding lips. When Gabe – hungry, dominant Gabe – had first suggested getting tied up, _forcing_ himself to be submissive, Jack had turned redder than a tomato in July. Kinky the boy was not, but how could he pass up the opportunity? Now as Gabe moved his head this way and that, avoiding Jack’s cock like a pet refusing to take medicine, the blond boy from Bloomington realized this was just another one of Gabriel’s bedroom games: take him to the edge with nothing but his mouth and that _amazing_ tongue, then leave him out to dry.

                “What do you want from me?” Jack sighed.

                “I want you to grow a pair to go along with that nice little cock you got,” Gabriel spat with false menace.

                Jack’s eyes narrowed, then the faintest trace of a smile curled up at the edges of his mouth. Still holding Gabriel’s head with one hand, he pinched his lover’s nose closed with the other. Gabriel’s eyes widened for a second, then shot up a glare to Jack that might’ve been angry, aroused, surprised, satisfied, or some combination of the four. Jack grinned back, and started tapping his cock wetly against the side of Gabriel’s cheek.

                It took almost five minutes for Gabe to break; the super-soldier conditioning enabled both of them to hold their breath much longer than the average human – in truth, Gabriel could’ve held out for nearly four times that long – but it was still a game, and he knew he couldn’t drag out the farm-boy for that length of time. When he finally _did_ open his mouth to breathe, Jack was ready, and he shoved his cock down Gabriel’s throat in an instant, plunging in until he felt Gabe’s goatee tickling his balls.

                “You want it,” Jack grunted, feeling Gabe’s throat tighten around his length, “you got it!”

                Grabbing his partner’s head with both hands, Jack began to fuck Gabriel’s throat, never pulling more than halfway out, and always pushing all the way in. Gabe’s tongue lavished Jack’s shaft as it passed, wrapping around the girth and dragging across the base, muffled moans escaping into the air with each thrust until spit was dripping down his chin onto the cold quarters’ floor.

                Close as he was, Jack couldn’t hold out for more than a couple of minutes. With a final heave, he slammed Gabriel’s head against his own crotch and unloaded, cumming directly down his partner’s throat; Gabriel swallowed eagerly, his neck muscles personally escorting every creamy morsel through Jack’s cock and straight to his stomach. Still bound by the zip-ties, Gabriel’s arms twitched aimlessly, wanting to grab Jack by that awful, white-boy ass of his and pull him in deeper, but agonizingly, _delightfully_ unable to do so.

                Jack pushed Gabriel off when he finished, sending his partner to the floor as he staggered back and sat down on the bed, trying to catch his breath. Gabriel grinned, somehow less winded than his partner, and gave Jack a wink. Jack rolled his eyes, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and staggered over the closet to retrieve his pajamas.

                “Hold up,” Gabriel whined, rolling over on his back and presenting his own penis, fully erect and practically oozing precum. “What about me, farm-boy?”

                “Nah,” Jack replied, pulling on his shirt and flashing that Indiana smile that had melted Gabriel’s heart from the very first glance, “I’m done.”

                The roaring string of Spanish expletives that followed could be heard down the hall to the barracks commons, and then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! For more updates (and smutty writing) follow me on [Tumblr](https://nsfwtimedm.tumblr.com/)!


	9. Day 9 - Asphyxiation (Nintendo | Peach x Bowser)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I unironically ship Peach and Bowser, though not in an “ooo, Mario’s SO MUCH LESS OF A MAN” NTR way like I know a lot of other folks do; I like the ‘corruption’ stories where it’s not so much the character gets actually corrupted, but rather has their horizons expanded beyond the milquetoast norm they’re used to, and that’s how I imagine the Peach/Bowser dynamic, although I also imagine that Bowser is a big ol’ softy and Peach turns out to be a lot kinkier than either of them were expecting. ANYWAY, enjoy.

                “I’m…I’m not real comfortable with this,” Bowser stammered as he turned a darker shade of green and nervously adjusted his collar with the hand not bracing against the headboard.

                “What? Why not?” Peach asked, pouting up at him as she leaned up on her elbows on the four-poster bed in the Koopa King’s royal chambers.

                “It’s just – it’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”

                The Mushroom Princess’ expression dropped to a deadpan stare, only slightly diminished by the rose-blush in her cheeks.

                “Seriously? After everything we’ve –ngh– done, you choking me out a little is –ngh– what catches the blue shell?”

                Bowser averted his gaze, and his lower teeth stuck out in a frown. His pace didn’t slow though, and Peach was grateful enough for that, each thrust of his hips sending mounting waves of pleasure through her tight body. The first time they’d fucked, he could barely fit a quarter of his length inside – now she could take him to the hilt, though it made her stomach bulge obscenely in the process. Even as old hat as their trysts had become, it still drove her wild to see that scaly cock stretching her out – but she wanted, _needed_ more, and, Almighty Goomba willing, she’d get it.

                “What about the Piranha Plant vines?”

                Bowser rolled his eyes.

                “The –hgh– mushrooms?”

                “That’s different,” he grumbled.

                “The Bullet Bills?”

                “Princess, I—”

                The strain in her abdomen subsided, and Peach could tell Bowser was going soft. Cursing the Koopa’s annoyingly soft heart, she struck Bowser across the nose with a loud smack. Bowser reared back in surprise as the slap resounded against the castle stones, but Peach grabbed him by the collar and hauled him down to face her.

                “What did I say about calling me that?”

                “ _Fuck_ what you said!” the Koopa King growled, a rising scent of brimstone on his breath.

                _He’s angry_ , Peach thought, _good._

                “Aw, did I hurt the big, bad Bowser’s feelings?” she mocked, tossing herself back on the bed. “Is the King Koopa really just a little bitch?”

                “I’m _not_ a LITTLE BITCH!”

                The stench of fire assaulted Peach’s nose, and it drew out a new wave of moisture from her stretched-out pussy – just as well, because the Koopa was hard again, and starting to shove into her with quick, rough strokes less like fucking a lover and more like bashing a stone wall down.

                “You want me to choke your fuckin’ lights out like some two-coin Mushroom _slut_?! FINE! THEN _THAT’S_ WHAT I’LL DO!”

                Fire leapt from Bowser’s mouth, singing the stone above his bed black, and his massive claws closed around Peach’s neck. She bit her lip, and as her fingers dug into the Koopa’s red silk sheets, Bowser let out a bestial laugh. The bellowing guffaw sent tremors through Peach’s body as she remembered that first time years ago, in World 8-4, when he’d taken her late at night in the throne room, used her like a cocksleeve, then discarded her just as the first reports of a plumber fighting his way through the castle came in. When Mario freed her, could he still smell the sweat, the _sex_ on her? Could he tell that beneath her floofy pink dress, her abdomen was bulging with Koopa cum? Would he have still saved her if he did? Things were so different now; Mario and Bowser were actually sort of friends, but she—

                Bowser was going soft again.

                “Hold up, how do I do this?” he asked, releasing her. “I mean, I’ve got claws, but I don’t want to scratch your—”

                Peach sighed and moved his hand so the palm was directly over her throat, his fingers completely encompassing her neck, then winked. Bowser nodded in understanding, then his eyes flashed red as she tried to slap him again.

                “Alright! I’m gonna choke you now! And…you’re gonna enjoy it!”

                “Just fuckin’ do it, you little bitch,” Peach gasped out.

                Bowser squeezed, just a little, but the effect was immediate: Peach froze, her back slightly arched, muscles tensing in instinctive panic as her air supply was cut off. Even wanting this, her first reflex was to attempt to pry the Koopa’s massive mitt from her throat, but she forced her arms down, forced herself to refocus, hands digging through the sheets to the soft bedding below. Her legs, wanting to kick, instead locked over Bowser’s shell, holding on as he quickened his pace.

                She felt giddy at first – every new thrust seeming to be oddly hilarious even as her fingers and toes began to tingle with impending orgasm – and then the lightheadedness kicked in. She had the odd sensation of floating through clouds, through velvet, through the very idea of pleasure itself as the breezy semi-ecstasy caressed the procedurally-tightening muscles in her abdomen, now her chest, now her arms and legs. Bowser’s grunts, the crackle of the fireplace, the cool night breeze, all faded away until the only thing she could hear was a rapid double-drum, her heartbeat filling her ears. She was close, so close now, just a few more seconds and…

                A sharp, sucking ache in her lungs, spiderwebbing out through her bloodstream, the muscles contracting in pain as her heart ran out of air to pump. A misty, black vignette swarmed into her vision, and she felt a string of drool dripping out of her mouth. The pleasure radiating from her stuffed pussy crashed into the encroaching agony again and again like two oceans meeting, beating against each other for dominance – first the sex, then the suffocation, then the sex again – until they mixed, existing simultaneously within the same now-twitching space.

                Peach’s legs began to kick even as they stiffened; her willpower broke and her hands were at Bowser’s fingers, trying to peel them off of her spasming throat as much as keep them there, his grip pushing her down, down into this terrifying caress. Her hands beat against his trunk-like arms without strength or coordination, and the soft sheets rose up to meet her back as her body started to slacken. In the darkness above her, rising over mascara-streaking tears, she saw Bowser’s eyes, conqueror red, the monster that had ruined her and the monster that had saved her. Her clenched mouth twisted into a drooling smile.

                _What a man._

                The black and pink reached her brain at the same time, and she went under, soaring beneath a thousand tons of breaking weight, vaguely aware of a massive warmth in her belly that made her very consciousness vibrate in ecstasy. She felt the orgasm remotely, like listening to a beautiful voice that belonged to someone else, and all the while a dragging pain like molten metal pouring into her lungs. Trapped down there, the fire in her heart turned cool, then warm again, like brimstone. Above her, she saw something glimmer through the surface, reached up, and—

                Peach coughed and gasped as she sat up in Bowser’s bed, choking, wheezing, and grasping her aching throat. The Koopa King’s hand was behind her immediately, supporting her back, and a clawed, orange-scaled hand brushed sweaty strands of hair from her face.

                “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Bowser was blubbering, almost unintelligible, holding her like a broken doll. She put a weak hand to his mouth, and he was silent, watching her with puppy-dog eyes as her ragged breathing returned to a semi-normal rhythm. She ached like she’d just gotten a full-body massage from a Chain Chomp, but was exhilarated, still aroused even. The sheets around her legs were soaked with the Koopa King’s load, and when she tried to wiggle her toes, she saw them move, but all she felt was a prickle.

                “I think you might’ve overdone it,” Peach admitted, leaning against the massive Koopa. He cradled her, stroking her arm and hair, and sighed.

                “I _told_ you.”

                “Maybe we’ll take it slower next time.”

                “We damn well better,” Bowser grunted. “I…I don’t want to hurt you.”

                Peach looked up at the concerned Koopa, and got the strangest urge to do something she’d never done in all their nights together: kiss him. Before she could act on the impulse, Bowser’s eyes grew wide with panic.

                “Peach, your neck!”

                She reached up to her throat, and she didn’t need a mirror to tell her that the ache of her touch was a distinctly un-princess-like bruise. She shook her head and sighed, but before she could speak, she heard the tearing of fabric, and felt the ginger caress of velvet drape across her shoulders. She looked up, and saw Bowser with half a bed-curtain in his hand – the other half now hiding the night’s evidence.

                “I should get going,” Peach said, stumbling to her feet, trying to hide the blush in her face. Bowser got up, but she motioned for him to stay on the bed as she threw her gown and cloak back on. “I’ll see you again,” she promised, pausing at the bedroom door, but keeping her back to him. “Soon.”

                The Koopa King sat by the window and watched her go, out across the castle courtyard, down the staircase, and off to the waiting carriage, its driver sworn to secrecy, leaving little puddles of Koopa cum in her wake.

                “Just like old times,” he sighed, and rang for the attendant to change his bedsheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! For more updates (and smutty writing) follow me on [Tumblr](https://nsfwtimedm.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! For more updates (and smutty writing) follow me on [Tumblr](https://nsfwtimedm.tumblr.com/)!


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